Runaway
by kimmiecub1595
Summary: Left at the altar, a heartbroken Hermione flees to find solace, to find herself, and quite possibly, to find love in the most unexpected of places. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

"Merlin, Hermione. You're stunning," Ginny whispered, standing behind her best friend. Hermione grinned.

"You think so? I'm not sure if white is really my color," she said with mock doubt, smoothing the bodice of her gown. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"It's perfect, Hermione. The dress, your hair, the shoes. Everything about today is perfect. Minus the groom; you could so do better," Ginny teased, winking as she fluffed Hermione's veil.

"Okay," Ginny breathed. "You ready to become Mrs. Ron Weasley?" She stuck out in her tongue in disgust. Hermione laughed and took a deep breath in.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied.

Moments later, Harry burst in, his cheeks red.

"Erm, Ginny," he said, his voice uneven. "Can I have a word with you?" Ginny followed him out of the room, throwing Hermione a reassuring thumbs up on her way out. Hermione smiled to herself and peered up at the clock. The wedding was to start in exactly four minutes. She sighed, picked up the hand mirror that had belonged to her grandmother, and made sure the tendrils falling from her hair were perfect. But not too perfect.

Now all there was to do was wait.

And Hermione did just that. She didn't want to look at the clock.

Maybe there was just a technical problem. Maybe Ron was having trouble with his tie! He was never very good at dressing up. Ginny was probably tying it for him, giving him one last pep talk before he said 'I do'. Hermione wasn't worried.

Twenty-five minutes after the wedding was meant to begin, Ginny and Harry returned. Ginny looked distressed.

"'Mione," she whispered, taking a step towards her. "We have to–"

"He's gone, isn't he?" Hermione said blankly.

Ginny looked down. There was silence for a few moments.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry spoke up, and then cleared his throat. "We've been looking all over for him but...I think he got cold feet."

Hermione didn't speak. She really didn't have anything to say. She just sat on the couch behind her. Ginny hurriedly sat beside her.

"Hermione...," she said tentatively. "Are you alright?"

"Of course, Ginny," Hermione replied. Ginny couldn't quite figure out what emotion was shown in Hermione's eyes.

"...You're sure?" Ginny asked in disbelief, raising a ginger eyebrow. Hermione let out a laugh that was much to stiff and sudden to be natural. Harry and Ginny both jumped.

"And besides," she continued, that smile still plastered on her face. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't see this coming. Now! Someone should probably go tell the guests that there will not be a wedding today. _I'm _going to get out of this ghastly thing." Hermione patted her gown. Harry ran out to bring the bad news to the guests, and Ginny took Hermione's hand.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked quietly. Hermione shook her head.

"No, Ginny. I'm fine. I promise." Ginny stayed still. Hermione gave her a small, more convincing smile. "I promise." she repeated. Ginny gave her one last meaningful look and finally left.

Hermione sat in that spot for a few seconds. She was thinking. Hard.

And then, Hermione Jane Granger went ballistic.

She trashed the entire room, and by the time she was done, it looked like it had been ransacked. She was breathing heavily when she looked up at the mirror in front of her. Less than an hour ago she had been admiring her gown, preparing to get married. Now she was a mess, left at her own wedding, feeling like an idiot in that stupid dress. Finally, she picked up the silver hairbrush that had been her grandmother's, and threw it as hard as she could at the mirror in front of her. It shattered, and her reflection fell to the ground. And so did she.

Sobs racked her body as she sat on the floor, her face in her hands, her gown spread out around her. She stayed there like that for what seemed like forever, and soon she had no more tears. Dry sobs still left her.

She had never felt so betrayed. So embarrassed. What would her parents say when she saw them after? Her other friends? They would pity her. They wouldn't look at her the same. They'd treat her like she was a fragile little child again. The last thing she wanted was to have someone look at her with pity in their eyes.

She heard voices coming towards the door and stood up immediately. She couldn't let anyone see her like that. She was Hermione Granger. She was strong. She panicked and quickly turned on the spot, apparating to her flat. She knew once they realized she wasn't there, they would come looking for her at her place, so Hermione made a quick decision.

She shimmied out of her dress, tossing it on her bed, and threw on a t-shirt and sweat pants. She pulled her biggest suitcase of the top shelf in her closet and dropped it right on top of the gown. With a deep breath she began pulling clothes from her dresser. She didn't bother to re-fold them when she threw them haphazardly into the suitcase.

When she had filled it to it's limit, she grabbed her huge black leather bag that she had never used. It had been a Christmas gift that simply wasn't her style, but, boy, was it useful now. She used one hand to hold it open and the other to push all of the hair products and makeup into it. There was still room, thank Merlin, so she kneeled in her closet and stuffed her shoes into the seemingly bottomless bag.

And on she went, grabbing little things that she would need. She didn't know how long she would be gone. Hell, she didn't even know where was going. She just wanted _out._

Her last stop was the kitchen. She was shoving granola bars into her pockets when she heard a knock on the door.

"Hermione?" the voice called. _Shit, _Hermione cursed in her head. _That'll be Ginny and Harry._ Now in panic mode, she took one last look at her kitchen and paused. She eyed the bottle of white wine on her counter, the six pack of Firewhiskey. They were supposed to be for the honeymoon. With a growl, she seized the alcohol and brought it to her room, where she buried them under the clothes in her suitcase.

She could hear Ginny banging on the door, obviously worried. Hermione stopped zipping the suitcase for a moment. Maybe she should go open the door, let Ginny comfort her, and let herself cry.

But another call from Ginny knocked some sense into Hermione, and she continued with the zipper, shaking her head. Finally, she shrugged on a zip up sweatshirt and pulled the black bag onto her shoulder.

All of the adrenaline was turning into a killer headache, so she headed for the bathroom. The banging on the door was making Hermione more eager to leave. She ruffled through the medicine cabinet until she found the painkillers and went to open them when she froze.

"Hermione, I _know _you are in there. I'm coming in!" Ginny called. The door creaked open.

Hermione smacked her head. Why didn't she lock the door? She stuffed the bottle of pills into the pocket of her sweatshirt and slid into her room just in time to grasp the handle of her suitcase. And then she apparated the _hell _out of there.

All Ginny saw was an empty bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione opened her eyes and saw brick. With a sigh, she turned and a few feet away from her, Muggles were walking by. Of course they didn't notice her. They had somewhere to be. She started to walk towards the sidewalk that they were all bustling on, pulling her suitcase behind her.

She knew exactly where she was going. She had been there many times before. With a deep breath she picked up her pace, crossing the threshold of King's Cross Station.

Hermione approached the front desk, pulling her hood up to her cheek in case anyone familiar showed up. In all honesty, she had no idea where she was planning on traveling to. The woman at the desk looked friendly; she was plump and in her mid 40's, at least, with the most approachable chestnut eyes. She had many wrinkles, but they added to her appeal. They were clearly laugh lines, and Hermione immediately felt more at ease in her presence.

"Can I help you, deary?" the woman asked, and Hermione was not surprised that her voice was sweet and very high-pitched. Hermione brought her wad of money from her pocket, and placed it on the counter.

"Give me one ticket to... wherever I can go for this amount. One way," she said, sliding the money toward the woman. According to her bronze name tag, the woman's name was Josie. Josie smiled.

"Need to get away?" she asked knowingly. Hermione nodded with a sad smile. Josie pursed her lips. "I hear you loud and clear, love," she said sweetly. "My husband left me for some little blonde, right out of University, a year ago. I ran off to France, had an affair with a hunk who didn't speak a word of English, and by the time I returned Edward was begging for me to take him back."

"Did you?" Hermione asked, enchanted by the woman. She felt like they shared a bond in some way, though they had never met.

"Are you kidding? Sweetheart, the one thing that I learned in France was that you should never settle. Never, ever, ever. Even if the whole world is telling you this is the best you can get, you look them straight in the eye and say, 'Fuck you.' I realized I didn't need Edward.. I deserve better. I deserve... er... anonymous French boy." Hermione let out a laugh. Her first in a while. Josie gave her a warm smile.

"I'll tell you what. I'll book you for the next train to Marlowe. It's 30 miles west of London, so if you're looking for somewhere where no one you know will come looking, it's perfect. It's quaint. I think you'll love it." She slid the ticket towards Hermione and they shared a smile. "Train leaves in twenty-five minutes."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Hermione gave her a grateful handshake and began to walk away.

"Oh– sweetheart!"

Hermione knew it was her that was being addressed, and she turned. Perhaps she had dropped something at the desk. Josie waved her over, urgently, as a line had begun to form and a man in a black tailored suit was tapping his foot.

"I'm giving you my number, lovey. Even with my newfound freedom in France, I still wished I had a friend sometimes. A confidant, if you will." Josie motioned for Hermione's hand and enclosed it around a crumpled up piece of blue paper. "Call anytime." Hermione tightened her hand.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. She pushed the paper into her pocket and finally turned, and walked off. It was then that Hermione realized that she did not have to be completely alone.

"This just isn't like Hermione. I understand she's heartbroken. Humiliated, even. But it's not like her to just... leave." Ginny collapsed onto Hermione's bed, beside the crisp white gown. "I feel like a failure of a best friend. I didn't even get to say goodbye..."

"Gin," Harry breathed, sitting beside her. "It's not your fault. Hermione probably just ran off to some hole-in-the-wall café, to read for hours. She does that all the time when she's upset. Don't worry. She just needs to be alone." Ginny rested her head onto Harry's shoulder.

"I just wish she would have let us help." Harry nodded. They shared a solemn silence, one that they were both afraid to break. What did break the silence, was the front door opening slowly. Almost apprehensively.

"'Mione?" a voice rang. It was a nervous voice, clearly guilty. Ginny sat up straight.

"He wouldn't dare.." she growled, her eyes narrowing. Harry held onto her hand.

"Ginny, stay. Don't–"

"I'm not a dog!" she reeled, pulling her hand away. Harry groaned. Ginny was the sweetest little beauty he knew, but she was a spitfire when provoked.

He followed Ginny out to the living room. There was Ron, standing by the door in his tux, holding a box of chocolates in one shaky hand. Ginny was seething.

It all happened in one moment, before Harry could control her. In the blink of an eye, Ginny was practically airborne, charging straight for Ron. He was quick, but not as quick as his younger sister.

"You think-chocolates-can fix-THIS?" Ginny had begun to pummel Ron with the box, with every ounce of strength in her petite body. Harry fought the urge to laugh at the sight.  
>"Ginny, please! It was a mistake! I need to see Hermione, where is she? Show her to me, please. I need to apologize. Is she in her room?" Ron was able to push Ginny off and start toward's Hermione's bedroom.<p>

"She's not in there, mate." Harry spoke for the first time. Ron looked at him curiously.

"Well, then.. where?" He asked, his nose wrinkling. Harry did not meet his eyes. He couldn't.

"We don't know, Ron."

The room was silent for a few moments. Ron tilted his head.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

Ginny huffed. "What he means, is that because of you, Hermione has run away! Because you are a terrible git, my best friend is gone, without a word. I don't care if you are my brother. Hermione was the sister I never had and if you-" Her voice broke as it rose, and she took a deep breath before she continued. "If anything happens to her, anything at all, I swear, brother or not, you are receiving the most vicious Bat Bogey Hex I have ever dished out!" And with that, Ginny broke down once more. Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively. She molded into him, little sobs muffled into his shirt.

"Ron, I suggest you leave," Harry said. It was clearly not a suggestion in any way, and Ron could sense that. That was a command.


	3. Chapter 3

More than anything, Hermione wished she had brought a book. Typical Hermione Granger. Left at the alter, on the run to Merlin-knows-where, and she was wishing for a book. She settled for a newspaper left on the seat beside her, even if some of the pages were damp and stuck together.

A man in a maroon blazer was waddling through the aisle, checking tickets. Hermione grasped hers. She didn't even really know where she was going. She studied the ticket carefully. Marlow, Buckinghamshire, England. She hadn't remembered ever going there before, so why did it seem so damn familiar?

The man finally reached Hermione and stuck his plump hand out. She handed him her ticket and looked up at him, watching his face as he analyzed it. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, sir? Marlow. Do you know the area well?" The man paused and peered at her for a moment before answering.

"I've been there with my family to sail. It's a boating town, really. Lots and lots of boats. Mostly sailboats. What brings you there? Family?"

Hermione smirked. "Uh, yes. Family in Marlow. And what's it like for lodging? Hotels and such?"

"Not so much hotels. You'll find a bed and breakfast on every corner though."

"Right. Thank you." The man continued making rounds of the train and Hermione sighed. She hadn't even thought of a place to stay. She had plenty of money in her account, but wasn't sure if she wanted to drain her account staying in a bed and breakfast every night. She would have to figure it out once she arrived in Marlow of course. Hermione took a deep breath and decided to distract herself with the newspaper for now.

She scanned the pages, with little interest. Four, five, six pages were skipped over. And Hermione froze. Page seven, right below the obituaries. She would have missed it, if it weren't for the coffee stain beside it.

**CONVICTED DEATH EATER SET FREE **

_Seven years after the war against the dark wizard Lord Voldemort, one of his devoted followers has been set free from Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy, who had been a "Death Eater" for most of his adult life, was set free yesterday on account of good behavior and recommendations from ministry officials, who have yet to be named. Malfoy will be returning home to his wife, Narcissa, who has been patiently awaiting his freedom._

"_We all knew Lucius was innocent," Narcissa said candidly. "He was merely a victim, forced to serve the Dark Lord in order to protect his family. I think if other wizards were faced with the same situation, they would act in the same way, in the best interests of their loved ones." The Malfoys do have a son, 24-year-old Draco, who was not available for an interview at this time._

"Dammit," Hermione whispered. She knew she had to speak to someone back home, to warn them, but who? Ginny would tell Harry and they'd find some way to track where she was. No, Hermione needed someone who wouldn't force any information out of her. Hermione felt the train slowing around her, and she clutched her bags.

"Marlowe, Buckinghamshire, last stop."

She made her way for the exit, dragging her luggage behind, and quickly surveyed the area for a telephone. When she reached a payphone, she peered inside her small purse and picked out her address book. She was relieved that the phone number was in there, as she couldn't remember the last time she had used it. Carefully, Hermione began fingering the buttons and calling the one person back home that she trusted completely right now.

A short ring, and her cheery voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Molly," Hermione breathed. "It's Hermione. I–Don't tell anyone I'm calling, alright? Not Ginny, not Harry, no one. I was just wondering if–have you seen the paper this morning? We've got an issue."

Hermione finally got Molly Weasley off the phone after 25 minutes. Molly assured her she'd tell the others, without mentioning Hermione's name. But of course she was worried. And the news that Lucius Malfoy had been freed was the least of her worries. Hermione was prepared for the game of twenty questions that Molly was trying to play, though. She simply assured her that she was safe, and would prefer to be left alone. Molly understood.

She wouldn't stop apologizing though. It was exactly what Hermione had left for. The pity. She was the smartest witch of her age. The fact that people who normally respected her now had pity for her made Hermione feel a bit sick.

So Hermione, grasping her belongings and the soggy newspaper, set out to find some respect for herself. She wasn't going to stay at a bed and breakfast for a couple days and return home to the pity. She couldn't bear it. Now that she had the chance to look around and walk through the train station, outside into the September air, Marlow was seeming more and more welcoming. Quite honestly, if the circumstances were different, Hermione might have considered settling in a town just like this with Ronald. This was the kind of place she belonged in. The air was so clear, and crisp. She already felt at home.

Hermione quickened her pace, and began scanning the street for a coffee shop, or café. She needed somewhere to sit and look through that soggy newspaper. She knew it was the perfect idea. As soon as she got to sit down, Hermione was going to start looking for a flat.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione was overwhelmed, to say the least. The flat she lived in back home was actually owned by her parents. She hadn't ever purchased anything so big before. What was a good price? She never thought she would need guidance when it came to simply choosing a flat. She knew nothing about the town, so how would she know what a good neighborhood was?

Hermione held her forehead in her right hand and stirred her tea with the other. Her eyes focused on an ad. It had already been circled with a green highlighter. It was a small, one-floor building, with just two apartments. _Perfect,_ thought Hermione. _That means I'd only have to deal with one neighbor! One bedroom, one full bathroom, a spacious living room, and complete kitchen. I guess that's all I really need._

She left a few dollars on the table and used the payphone outside the café to call the number in the ad. Hermione hadn't noticed how her voice changed while she was on the phone. She was nervous, to be honest. This was the only flat that had appealed to her, and it was her only chance at staying in Marlow happily. Well, as happy as she could be at this point.

"Right. Tomorrow morning, 16 Barley Way.. Of course. Thank you so much." Hermione placed the phone back on its hook and sighed. She was hoping to see the flat by tonight. But as she looked around, Hermione realized that the sun _was _almost gone and the only light around her after her ten-minute phone call was coming from the street lamp.

Luckily, the man on the train had been correct. Hermione turned and immediately saw a bed and breakfast. She ducked inside and quietly checked in to the cheapest room she could find. Hopefully, by the end of the next day, she would be using her money to pay for the quaint little flat at 16 Barley Way.

"This is absolutely insane. A convicted death eater. Proven. With heavy evidence that he has _killed _innocent people and all of the sudden he's just free to go. I'm appalled." Ginny Weasley sat at the kitchen table of the Burrow, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her face was rosy from crying. Harry sat beside her, clearly uncomfortable. He was accustomed to cool, calm, easygoing Ginny. This side of Ginny made him, well... fear for his life, quite honestly.

And he'd been in fear since Hermione had left the day before. It was weird to think she had only been gone for less than twenty-four hours, because it felt like weeks. He was sure Hermione was doing just fine for herself. She was always so independent, and self-sufficient. Perhaps she just checked into a hotel for the night, and would return later today. Yes, that must be it. Hermione always had a plan.

Molly placed another cup of tea in front of Ginny and gave Harry a pat on the shoulder as she passed. She had mostly been busying herself with cleaning dishes manually. "Ginny, just relax, alright? I'm sure there's some kind of misunderstanding." Harry said calmly, leaning his elbows on the table.

Ginny shook her head. "I just can't help thinking about Hermione. She's gone and probably has no idea what's going on!"

Molly fumbled the plate in her hands and it fell to the floor, smashing and spreading across the hardwood.

"Oh, bollocks!" Molly cursed, bustling to fetch a broom.

"Are you alright, mum?" Ginny asked, looking up from her tea. Molly laughed loudly.

"Oh yes, just fine! I wish I could say the same for the plate!" She began sweeping up the plate and Harry stood.

"Er.. Mrs. Weasley? Repairo." The pieces of the plate floated from the pile and molded together. The plate was as good as new.

"Well, I suppose that would have been the easier thing to do.." Molly breathed, picking up the plate and placing it back in the sink. "Maybe I just need a cup of tea," she decided, turning toward the kettle.

Ron stumbled into the room, yawning with his arms behind his head. Harry looked away. He didn't even know what he was supposed to do. It was a terrible thing that Ron had done. If it had been anyone else to hurt Hermione like that, he'd curse them into oblivion. But Ron was his best mate. He didn't know how to act. So he just focused on the clock, and that's what he would do for the next ten minutes until it was time for him to go to work at the ministry.

Clearly, Ginny had decided to take a completely different approach. The noise that she made as soon as she laid eyes on Ron, was something Harry had never heard before. It was this feral growl, a screech, all coming from her throat. A sound that could only be made my a woman.

Ginny stood and obviously tried to push back her chair, but the sheer force of her movement tipped the chair onto the floor. Ron finally looked at her, his expression clearly confused. Ginny made eye contact with him, silently. Harry almost wanted to say, _Don't make eye contact with her for too long, you'll turn to stone!, _just to lighten the mood. But he knew that would put him on the same level as Ron in Ginny's mind.

Ginny stomped out, clipping Ron's body with her shoulder as she passed. Ron's nose wrinkled.

"Women."

Molly picked up the plate that had just been repaired, and threw it on the ground. It broke into even more pieces this time.

"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" she bellowed, gesturing at the plate. Ron and Harry both stared at her, incredulous.

"Well? Clean it up!" she screeched, bustling out of the room, her footsteps heavy. Harry could hear her sniffle in the hallway.

Ron wasn't quite sure what had just happened. But he repaired the plate and set it on the counter. He sat across from Harry and exhaled.

"And they wonder why I didn't want to get married." He leaned back in his chair.

"Ron, that's not what they're wondering. We're _all_ wondering how you could manage to be such a terrible prat." Harry growled, standing and walking out.

Ron sat for a moment. _I guess I'll be making my own breakfast,_ he thought. With a groan he stood and walked toward the cupboard.

Harry reached Ginny's door and knocked gingerly before opening it slowly. She was just sitting at her mirror, brushing her hair. She did that a lot.

"Gin? I have to go to work. Will you be okay?" Harry crossed to her chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She put down her brush and they met eyes in the mirror.

"I suppose. Will you be home late again?" she asked, her voice hopeful. Harry sighed and sat on her bed.

"I can't make any promises, Ginny. We've been doing a lot of raids, and now that Malfoy is walking among us, security's going to be high. I'll try to be back out our flat for dinner, alright? If not, I'll make it up to you. I promise. I love you, Gin." He stood. Ginny let out a breath.

"Alright. I love you too," she replied. Harry planted a kiss on the top of her head, grabbed his coat and walked out. Ginny sat still until she heard the front door open and close. She would give anything to have her best friend right now. She needed to talk to her, and she needed to talk to her _bad. _

Because there was a reason she was so emotional, and fatigued, and bloody starving all of the time. She could feel it.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione couldn't keep herself from smiling. As soon as she saw it, she knew it was perfect.

"I'll take it," she stated, extending her hand to the realtor. He shook her hand, so enthusiastically that his face shook. He bent into his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers, and a pen from his shirt pocket. When he dropped the papers on the coffee table, the sound echoed throughout the room.

"Let's get started," he said.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione had dotted every 'I', crossed every 'T', and initialed so much that her hand had begun to cramp up.

"Well, that's that!" the realtor exclaimed, packing up the papers and returning them to his briefcase. "The place is all yours. This is for you." He handed her the silver key.

"Thank you, sir. This place is adorable. Perfect, even," Hermione said, walking him toward the door.

"You're very lucky to have snatched up this building, it's absolutely brand new. Especially when there are only two flats in the building, and it's fully furnished!. Your neighbor moved in only a week ago. Speaking of him, you might want to keep to yourself. He's not the friendliest man. One of those brooding, lonely types." He opened the door with one hand and shook Hermione's hand once more with the other.

"A pleasant day to you. And good luck!" He stepped out and Hermione closed the door behind him.

"Thank you. I'll need it."

Hermione spent hours feeling out her new home. It wasn't until nearly 3 o'clock in the afternoon that she realized she had not even bothered to find something to make for dinner. She knew she had passed a small market on her way to the building, and she immediately set out to find it along her new road, Barley Way.

The late September weather was gorgeous to Hermione. September had always been her favorite month. Not only because of the weather, but because for most of her life, September had meant returning to Hogwarts. It had been eight years since her 6th year, her last year in the school. Eight years and she still got that elated mood whenever September rolled around.

She came across the market exactly seven minutes from her flat. _Perhaps I should invest in a bicycle, _Hermione thought as she entered the store and grabbed a small red basket. The door chimed and the cashier gave Hermione a small, bored smile.

She had never been an expert in the kitchen. What she did know, was that spaghetti was easy, and it was cheap. She sought out the pasta and pushed several boxes of the angel hair pasta into her basket.

And just to be a little exciting, some bow ties too.

Hermione strolled to the next aisle, seeking out the same marinara sauce her parents always used. She wasn't one to stray from the norm.

It took her quite a while to find it before she spotted it on the top shelf. The best thing to do probably would have been to ask for assistance, but Hermione was not willing to call too much attention to herself. She raised herself onto her toes and reached her arm up, but barely touched the glass jar.

She looked around, and saw no employees to ask for assistance. She probably wouldn't have asked for assistance if there was one.

So Hermione carefully stepped up on the bottom shelf, holding onto the shelves with one hand and reaching up with the other. She could feel her hand slipping, but really didn't feel like having to ask for help. So she reached until she grasped the jar. And coincidentally, she reached until the hand that anchored her to the shelf slipped free, and she fell backward, losing her grip on the jar as well.

She hit the ground, hard, but not quite as hard as she had anticipated. She waited to hear the jar smash beside her, or on top of her, and anticipated the sauce that would inevitably cover her as it fell.

But it never came.

It took Hermione a few seconds to process this, and to realize she had instinctively raised her hands in front of her face. She brought them down, and that's when she heard the chuckle. She sat up and looked to either side. She spun around and all she saw was black. Before her eyes focused, of course, and she realized she was simply looking right at a pair of black dress pants. Her eyes traveled up to see the savior of her spaghetti sauce, and Hermione choked on air when she saw the platinum blonde hair, the pale skin, the piercing grey eyes.

"Having a little trouble, Granger?"

And Draco Malfoy extended a long, bony hand down to her.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione blinked. She looked from his hand, to his face, to her own hand, and to his hand once more. She decided the best thing to do would stand herself up. She rejected his hand and dusted herself off as she stood.

"A gentleman would have caught me, rather than the jar," she said, motioning for the glass jar. Draco snorted and held the jar out to her.

"Any with eyes would have realized that the same exact brand of sauce was on the shelf right below where you were reaching." He smirked as she took the jar and, hesitantly peered back at the shelves. He was right. The exact same jar was a whole shelf below.

She decided turning on him was the only way to mask her embarrassment.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" she folded her arms, still clutching the jar and peering around as if she expected other familiar faces to be around the corner.

"Find you? Granger, if you're implying that I came looking for you, you are sadly mistaken. As for my reason in being here, I believe I should be asking you the same question."

"For your information, _Malfoy,_ I live here. Well, not here. Obviously not in a grocery store. I mean in Marlow. I live in..this town. In the town of Marlow. Yes." She turned up her nose at him and he smirked.

"Well, welcome to town, I guess." He began to walk away and Hermione squinted at him as she thought.

"Welcome? Welcome to town? You mean you live here? In Marlow. You live here?"

Draco stopped walking and turned toward her once again. "Yes, Granger. I live in Marlow. I have for quite a while, actually."

"Since when?"

"About six days ago."

Hermione tilted her head. "Well. What brings you here anyway?"

Draco's smirk twitched into a subtle sneer. "I don't see how that would be your business. Perhaps I just needed a change of pace. What's your reason? Finally decide to settle down with the ginger boy?"

Hermione ran her hand through her hair, looking anywhere but back into his eyes.

"Actually, Ronald and I are not together anymore."

"My apologies."

It was quiet for a moment until Draco spoke again.

"Well, I really must be on my way."

"Yes, very busy, I must be going." Hermione overlapped his words, and they both went their separate ways.

Metaphorically, of course, because they were both heading toward the cashier and had no choice but to walk beside each other. They reached the counter at the same time but Draco stopped and beckoned Hermione forward.

"Ladies first."

Hermione was disturbed by the way he made the polite comment sound like a dirty word.

She purchased her spaghetti and the sauce she had worked so hard to get, and, with just a nod to Draco, got the fuck out of there.

Not forty-five seconds later, Hermione heard herself being called.

"Oi! Granger! Slow down, woman." Draco walked briskly out behind her, holding two bags on one arm. Hermione slowed and allowed him to catch up, but continued walking once he did. She expected him to say something, but he didn't.

"May I ask why you're accompanying me?"she asked, keeping at least a foot and a half between them.

"I can't allow a lady to walk home alone. It'll be dark soon."

"It's 4 o'clock. My flat is under twenty minutes away."

"I insist."

And it was silent again. Hermione wondered what was going on. She was quite confused by the whole situation. She honestly couldn't think of a reason that Draco Malfoy would be living alone in Marlow. Perhaps he had come to Marlow much for the same reason as her. Actually, he hadn't specified if he was alone or not. He could have settled down himself, and Hermione would never have known.

She hadn't spoken to the man in years. In fact, Hermione believed she hadn't seen Draco in person for eight years, when the war ended. He looked older in his features, but for some reason younger than he had as a seventeen year old. Hermione understood that Draco saw some things as a teenager that would age anyone.

But she couldn't understand what would bring him to Marlow, of all places. It was even stranger that he had only moved there within the week. She would have thought he'd be at his own home, enjoying the fact that his bastard of a father was free.

It was literally silent until they arrived in front of Hermione's flat on Barley Way.

"Here we are." He gestured toward the house and Hermione nodded. Then she turned toward him, puzzled.

"How did you–this is–How?" she asked, looking at him angrily. _He's stalking me! _She thought wildly.

And Draco began to laugh.

Hermione was appalled. She had just discovered that he had been _stalking _her, and he was laughing!

"What's so bloody funny?" she asked, ignoring the burning in her cheeks. Draco ran a bony hand through his hair and caught his breath.

"My landlord called me today and told me someone had moved into the flat beside me," he said evenly. Hermione stared at him.

"Smartest witch of your age, my arse. You didn't give any thought to who lived in the flat connected to yours, did you?"

Hermione shook her head, confused. And then it clicked. When the realtor had told her about her neighbor.. He was a brooding type. Not very friendly. Her fists tightened as she realized the truth.

"You...but...why didn't...when...what?" Hermione sputtered. Draco let out another bark of laughter before making his way up the walkway.

"Nice meeting you, Neighbor."


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione dropped the spaghetti into the pot of boiling water. It seemed as if she couldn't escape hell at this point. She had literally _run away from her problems_ and brand new ones were following her. Clearly, the fates were having a good laugh at her expense.

She used a wooden spoon to swirl the pasta, comforted by the water vapors that were rising up at her. Maybe she just wasn't meant to be happy. Maybe she was meant to live a lonely life in Marlow, across the hall from her sworn enemy. Well, honestly, they weren't enemies anymore. Sure, Malfoy was probably just as annoying as he was at Hogwarts, but they were adults now. Perhaps he had matured a little bit.

Hermione opened the cabinet above the stove and groaned. She didn't even think to buy glasses.

She thought for a moment before opening the fridge and pulling out the bottle of wine. If she had to resort to drinking from the bottle, so be it. She was never a big drinker but appreciated a glass of wine on special occasions. And this occasion was her private little housewarming party.

_But of course I don't even have a bottle opener with me, _she thought, slumping down on her couch. _I guess I'll just be drinking water from the tap. With no glass._

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Hermione froze. She threw her hands over her face. They must have found her. Harry, or Ginny, or anyone from the Order. She should have figured they'd find her within twenty-four hours. She considered sitting still and waiting until they left, but laughed bitterly when she thought about it. They'd obviously break in if they had to. So she stood and prepared for the pity party.

Because Hermione Granger is a brave girl. She's in the Golden Trio. She's Harry Potter's best friend, so she should be just as brave, right?

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Wrong.

Hermione tossed the bottle of wine onto the couch and crossed to the fridge, bending to grab a bottle of firewhiskey. Because the only way she was going to get through this was with a little liquid bravery.

She popped the cap off on the counter and took a few quick swigs, not quite allowing herself to taste it with the speed she was drinking at. As soon as she took the bottle from her lips, she remembered why it was called _fire_whiskey. Hermione coughed, her eyes watering.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Liquid courage in hand, Hermione stood in front of the door, and with one last sip, she pulled it open.

"Christ, Granger. How long were you going to keep me waiting?" Draco stood in the hall, a bottle of wine in his hand that Hermione had only seen at other tables at very expensive restaurants.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Hermione looked him up and down, taken aback.

"I was going to share this bottle of wine with you. But I suppose you're all set." He eyed the bottle in her hand and she frowned, holding it behind her back.

"I actually was going to have some wine of my own, but I don't own a bottle opener. So, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."

"Granger, did someone _obliviate _you after we left school or are you just completely daft? Can I come in?" Hermione didn't know why, but she let him in. She really didn't know what other option she had.

He walked to the counter, placed the bottle on the counter and took his wand from his pocket. Hermione tensed for a moment. But he simply pointed it at the bottle and the cork came out with a quick _pop._

"Where are your glasses?" he asked, reaching for the cabinets.

"I haven't any glasses. The flat didn't come with any." Hermione set her firewhiskey on the counter and folded her arms. Draco snorted.

"Very well, I'll go fetch some. Do you have plates in here?"

"I...yes. I do. But you really mustn't–"

Draco was already out the door, and walking through his door. Hermione had not been so confused in a long time. She considered shutting her door and locking it before he returned, but took another swig of her firewhiskey instead.

He returned with two wine glasses in one hand, and his wand in the other. He placed them on the counter and immediately began making copies of them. Hermione stepped toward him.

"What are you doing?" She picked up one of the duplicates and examined it.

"Might as well make you a few glasses for yourself. You know, for the future." He finished and flicked his wand. The glasses were gone, except the original two. He looked down for a moment to return his wand to his pocket and Hermione peeked in her cabinet to see the six duplicates sitting inside.

"I assume you're inviting yourself over for dinner," she said, stirring the spaghetti with one hand, the other resting on her hip. Draco poured the wine into one of the glasses, bringing it farther from the glass as it filled. Hermione rolled her eyes at his obvious attempt at showing off.

"Invite myself over? My mother taught me better than that, Granger."

"But you're already here."

"That's very true. I guess I can stay, if you insist." He smirked and handed her the glass, starting on his.

"You're entirely too sneaky, and I find you very suspicious," Hermione said, taking a hesitant sip.

"Yet you allowed me into your home, so that must count for something."

Hermione thought about his sentence as she set down her glass and reached into the cabinets, pulling out two porcelain plates. With the wooden spoon she distributed the spaghetti equally onto the two plates. Draco smirked and picked up the spaghetti sauce on the counter.

"This looks familiar!" He unscrewed the top and poured it onto each plate.

When they finally sat down, facing each other at the small chestnut table, all that could be heard was the sound of forks on porcelain, and Hermione's desperate gulps. After a minute or two, Hermione put down her fork and looked up at him.

"I honestly don't have anything to say to you. I can't say I'm fluent in small talk."

Draco met her eyes for a moment, raised his eyebrows, and looked back down at his plate.

"Sometimes the company of another is more than enough." He said this in such a small, low voice that Hermione struggled to hear it. She nodded, and they both continued eating.

Maybe it was the very strong wine mixing with the even stronger firewhiskey, but Hermione could feel the silence shift from awkward to comfortable.


	8. Chapter 8

"...And it was honestly just the best moment of my life, Malfoy, really. I don't know what came over me but you were just being such an insensitive git and all I remember was turning back to you and clocking you right in the nose!" Hermione burst into giggles, holding her stomach. Draco fought the smirk that was playing at his lips, but unsuccessfully. The wine had barely affected him but once they dipped into the firewhiskey his focus was much more muddied than he would like it to be.

"I mean...you should have seen...your _face_!" Hermione finished off her glass and shook her head with her eyes closed tight. "You never even expected it!"

"Of course I didn't expect it, Granger. You punched me in the face, and it hurt like a bitch. Who knew you'd have such a good arm?"

Hermione laughed again, throwing her head back and unsteadily standing from her chair. She crossed to the counter and picked up the wine bottle, turning it upside down over her glass. The drops that came out barely covered the bottom of the glass. She frowned.

"We finished the whole bottle."

"Correction. _You _finished the bottle. And you're bloody drunk, Granger." He shook his head with a smirk as she tried to steady herself on her way back to the table.

"And a sloppy drunk, at that. I take it you aren't a heavy drinker."

Hermione leaned against the table. "Honestly?" she said. "I've never had more than a glass of wine at a wedding. I don't even enjoy it."

Draco tilted his head. Hermione moved to fix her hair with her left hand, forgetting her left hand was supporting her body against the table. As she lifted her hand, she went straight down, clipping her mouth on the table as she fell. It took Draco a moment to process the whole thing.

"Granger? Give some sign that you're alright so I can laugh at whatever the hell just happened." He peered over the side of the table and Hermione was pushing herself off the ground.

"I'm fine! This table is obviously not sturdy." She hissed after this sentence, and Draco realized why as he saw the blood begin to form around her bottom lip.

"Oh, dammit, Granger. You gave yourself a bloody lip. Come on, sloppy." He grabbed her elbow and supported her as they walked toward the sink. Hermione stood and waited as he took the hand towel on the stove and held it under the faucet. When he turned and went to bring it to her lip, he stopped and frowned.

"You're too damn short." He lifted her by the waist and plopped her on the counter, like a rag doll. Hermione hissed in pain again as he pressed the cloth to her lip.

"I know it hurts, but we can't have you bleeding all over the place." Through Hermione's fog, she almost thought Malfoy was trying to smile at her. She thought of smiling back, but stopped herself for two reasons: She was probably just imagining his smile in the first place, and moving her mouth at all at this moment was the most unappealing thing in the world.

"I'll have you all fixed up in no time. Merlin, why would someone who claims they only have a glass of wine at a wedding even have a pack of firewhiskey in her possession? It couldn't have been for you, Granger. Who were you planning on sharing it with?" He chuckled, but Hermione froze. She lifted her hand up to the cloth and pushed it away.

"Get out."

"What? What's wrong?" Draco didn't move but Hermione started to shimmy off of the counter and he stepped back.

"I just think you need to go. It's late and I have things to be doing other than drinking with an acquaintance. Thank you for the company." She was secretly pleased with herself for being able to string together a sentence despite how incredibly tipsy she was feeling.

"Granger, what the hell are you talking about?" Draco was incredibly confused, enough to allow himself to be ushered to the doorway.

"I'll see you when I see you. Goodnight." She closed the door. And Draco...well. Draco just stood there. He quite honestly didn't know what to do. He could hear her bolt all of the locks on her door, all the way down. He couldn't even remember saying anything that could have upset her so much. In fact, he was quite sure he had been extremely _nice_ to Granger for the duration of the night.

By the time he was kicking off his shoes and rolling into bed, Draco had concluded that, like all women, Granger was crazy.

Hermione didn't even clean up dinner before going to bed, which was so unlike her. It was almost freeing to be able to leave such a mess though. If she had left the kitchen of the burrow looking like that, Ron would have nagged her until she cleaned it up. After all, Ron hated "reading the newspaper with last night's casserole staring at him".

She felt terrible for turning on Malfoy so suddenly, but she knew if she hadn't she probably would have become the emotional drunk that she always feared she would be.

And she felt terrible that she had probably just destroyed her only chance of having a confidant in Marlow.

On the back of the receipt from the grocery store, Hermione jotted down a to-do list for the next day. It was a habit of hers, to plan out her every step. The first few bullets were written in small cursive: get groceries for the week, clean up kitchen, make bed. But right before Hermione sat on her bed, she wrote in all capital printed letters:

GET A JOB

To face facts, she probably wouldn't be in Marlow for a very long time, with the way things were going. But she needed something to do during the day, and extra cash was always a positive. Tomorrow, she decided, Hermione would take a walk around the center of town, and scope out possible job opportunities. Somewhere quaint; she would fit in well.

Hermione got into bed, and it took her a few moment to realize what was missing. She turned on the bedside lamp and scribbled on the back of the receipt. The words, '_buy sheets' _were written in fresh ink, and circled, twice.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ginny, will you please let me in? It's time to wake on, love. Please?" Harry pressed his ear to the bedroom door. He waited a few seconds, and the door finally opened.

Ginny was a sight. Her hair was tied up in an untidy bun, and her makeup from the day before was still smudged around her eyes, which were pink and swollen.

"What is it now, Gin?" Harry asked, taking her hands swiftly and leading her to the bed. They sat down together, and Ginny whimpered before speaking shakily.

"It's just... I never thought he'd be gone so soon. He's just gone. It's so terrible, why did he have to die? It wasn't his time!" Her voice broke and she furiously wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"What? Who died, Ginny? When? What happened?" Harry hadn't heard of any deaths, and he was usually the first to hear of them.

"Crookshanks, of course! Who do you think?" She wailed and threw herself toward her pillow. Harry blinked, confused.

"Crookshanks? Ginny, Crookshanks died three years ago, of natural causes.. Why are you bringing this up now?"

"I don't know!" Ginny sat up suddenly, and Harry had to move quickly to avoid headbutting her. Her eyes were blazing, and her mouth was twisted in such an unfriendly way that Harry instinctively backed up. "Am I not allowed to mourn? You act like you're so perfect all the time, like you don't have emotions because you're perfect Harry Potter!" Ginny hissed and threw herself down again.

"Ginny, what's going on? What did I do? What can I do?" Harry tentatively placed a hand on her waist. It was a daring move.

Ginny sat up again, this time much slower. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to make you breakfast?"

Harry squinted, and scratched his head. "Gin, it's 4 o'clock. In the afternoon. You've slept all day. It's nearly time for dinner." Ginny ran her hand through her hair. She shook her head, and placed her head in her hands.

"I miss Hermione, Harry."

Harry signed and wrapped his arms around her. "I know, love. But I'm here for you too, you know that. I know sometimes you just need your best friend. But I'm here."

Ginny nodded. "I love you, Harry." Harry kissed her on the forehead, and then on the lips. "I love you too, Gin. Come down for dinner when you're ready." He squeezed her hand, stood, and walked out, closing the door slowly as he did.

"Where in the hell are you, Hermione?" Ginny flopped down and covered herself in her comforter. For the first time in weeks, she had no appetite.

The bell on the door chimed as Hermione entered the small shop, and she immediately fell in love. _Smells like fresh parchment, _she mused as she approached the front desk. There was no one there, so she tapped the small bell on the desk for assistance. A short, thin woman emerged from a back room, her long graying hair floating behind her.

"Hello, deary, how can I help you today?" Her voice was low, and soothing to Hermione.

"Actually, my name is Hermione Granger. I'm new to Marlow and I was wondering if you had any interest in hiring?"

The woman paused and pursed her lips. "It's generally a rule of mine to only hire family, dear."

Hermione frowned. "I understand. I've just always dreamed of working in a place like this."

"In a bookstore?"

"Oh yes, I love books. All of them." Hermione marveled at the shelves and shelves surrounding her. She noticed several small round tables, all set with teacups. "And you serve tea. This is fantastic."

"You think so? It's been in the family for decades. Right now it's just me and my oldest daughter, Maggie, working here. She does have school during the day. We're not the busiest shop, but, some company would be nice.. Hermione?"

"Yes?" Hermione admittedly had been more fixated on the titles than the woman's words.

"What does your schedule look like Monday through Friday from 8-3?"

Hermione grinned. "Wide open."

"My name is Libby, by the way. What would be alright with you for pay? I could probably do $150 a week at the most, we don't have many customers."

"I don't care about the money. How about $100 a week, plus privileges to borrow books overnight?" Hermione was half joking, but Libby smiled and clasped her hands together.

"And all the tea you can drink, dear! I'll get you a name tag right away. Welcome to The Book Shelf." She held out her bony hand, and Hermione shook it graciously.

"Glad to be here."

Hermione returned to her flat before dark, with more bags than she thought she could carry. She probably bought more food than she would ever need for herself, but in her defense, she was accustomed to buying for two.

Hermione shook her head to rid her mind of the thought, and made her bed with the sheets she had just bought. Of course they were pure white. Hermione loved a perfect white bed to sleep in.

She wished she could just go to sleep then, because tomorrow she would be starting work. She honestly hadn't been so excited for something since the wedding.

She shook her head again.

Hermione finished putting away the groceries and sat down at the table with a glass of water. She could have gone for a glass of wine, but for some reason she couldn't find the bottle.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione wasn't quite sure what one should wear to work at a bookstore. Obviously business attire wasn't expected, but she wanted to look respectable. Not that she ever looked anything _besides _respectable. She finally sighed in contentment when she pulled on dark jeans and a tan sweater. She liked having something to busy herself with, if only for seven hours. At least she wouldn't have to think about home for a while. Thinking about it troubled her to no end.

But what really kept her awake at night was the dinner with Malfoy. It was just the most bizarre thing. It was like her time at Hogwarts hadn't even happened, besides some of the awkward silences. Then again, she could blame the alcohol for feeling so relaxed around him. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty for turning on him so quickly, but the emotion just hit her so hard. Of course Malfoy couldn't have known what had happened to her, but he had also been nosing around in her business, and that was just unacceptable.

Hermione pulled on her jacket and stepped into the hallway. She faced her door to lock it, and heard the door across the hall swing open. She sighed inwardly.

"Where are you off to so early, Granger?" Malfoy asked as he shut his door. Except it sounded more like "Warofft so awly, Granger?" because he was mid yawn, causing Hermione to stifle a yawn as well.

"Though I believe it's none of your business, Malfoy, if you really–" She managed not to pause her sentence as she finished locking her door and turned around, but Hermione's brain nearly shut down when she saw Malfoy standing in nothing put a pair of flannel pants, his hands in the pockets and his hair tussled from sleep. "–must know, I am on my way to work." She was proud of her brain for pulling together a sentence when her libido was making her feel like a teenager again.

"Work? You've been in town for less than seventy-two hours and you already got a job? Merlin, Granger, don't you take a break?" He started walking toward the front door, and Hermione noticed that he was barefoot.

"I take plenty of breaks. And this job is not even work. It's like getting paid to have fun." She was aware at how corny she sounded, but she was too excited to care. He snorted.

"What, did they hire you to play librarian at the book store?"When he heard no response he turned to her again, and let out a bark at the look on her face. "Well, I'll be damned. You haven't changed much, have you, Granger?" Hermione scowled at him.

"Obviously, you haven't changed much either, Malfoy," she spat, pushing by him and out the front door. He sneered. "Watch yourself, Granger. Show a little respect."

Hermione stopped short and turned on her heel. "Respect? Hah! You think you and your cowardly family deserve _my _respect? You're nothing more than a little boy, living off of daddy's money. Or, did that money fall through when he got thrown into Azkaban? You must be ecstatic that the bastard is free, huh? So you have someone to protect you, Malfoy? Because you sure as hell can't take care of yourself. Now, if you don't mind, or even if you do mind, I'm going to work to make something of my life while you sit here and sulk. To think you believe you deserve respect. You deserve something far from that, you ignorant bastard!" And with that, she spun and continued down the walkway, hoping she looked as serious as she felt.

Draco was dumbfounded, yet again. What the fuck had he done this time? _She's a mad woman_, he thought, making sure he got a good look at her behind before she turned the corner. _What a waste of a great arse._

"So, that's where all the extra tea bags are. They're categorized better than the actual books, I'd say!" Hermione listened to Libby but was really taking in only half of what she was saying. The other half was still seething over Malfoy. "Maggie spends a lot of time organizing the tea." Malfoy and his awful family. "Such a smart girl, she is!" Malfoy and that terrible ego. "Earns high marks in all of her subjects!" Malfoy and those damn muscles. "She loves math. What was your favorite subject, dear?" Wait, muscles? Why in the world are those important? "Hermione?"

Hermione came out of her reverie with a start. "What? Oh, I rather enjoyed Arithmancy."

Libby tilted her head. "What, dear?"

"Uh, Arithmetic. Math. I also enjoyed math!" Hermione cursed herself for being so foolish as to mention a magical study to a muggle. Libby gave her a smile.

"I think that's the end of the big tour. So glad to have you on the team, Hermione. Such a delight. If you'd like to get to work, I have some new shipments here in the back room. It might take you the whole time you're here to sort all the new books. I know you'll do wonderfully!" She turned and left the back room, leaving Hermione with eight large cardboard boxes and a shelf full of tea bags.

Hermione was working as diligently as she could, what with all that was on her mind, but Libby had been right. It was nearly three o'clock and she was just getting to the final box. In this box, Hermione picked up a thick, leather-bound book that really caught her fancy, and she couldn't help but sitting down to read at least a few pages.

A few pages turned into twenty-four, and as she moved to turn the page again, a voice made her jump a few inches.

"Reading on the job, eh? You must be Hermione." Hermione looked up, expecting to be fired for slacking, but the face looking down at her was grinning. The blonde pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and held out a hand. "I'm Maggie. How do you do, Hermione?"

Hermione took the girl's hand and let herself be pulled up before shaking it. "Great, I was wondering when I'd meet you. Did you just get out of school?"

"School got out over an hour ago, but I stay afterwards for math team." Maggie answered, stepping toward her tea collection with pride.

"Math team? Fascinating. Libby told me you're a math fan." Hermione put the book back into the cardboard box, getting ready to continue her job. Maggie laughed.

"It's after three, you're off the hook. Care to join me for a cup of tea?"

Hermione pushed the box to the side. "Gladly."


End file.
